equilibrium
by naggingGargoyle
Summary: Steven's a little bit famous, Connie's a little bit obscure, they have an apartment and a lion, and they still save the world, sometimes, but mostly they have more important things to do. [future fic. steven is a trans woman]
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** twenty-something cohabitation fluff! Steven's a trans woman and a semi successful musician, Connie's a social worker who somehow managed to also get published.

* * *

 _Transcript of STEVEN Q UNIVERSE interview in full_

 _Interviewer_ : So, Ms. Universe, we were thrilled to watch you come out, and we've avidly followed your transition throughout these past couple of years. We understand you chose to keep your birth name?

 _Ms Universe_ : Yep! It's the name my mom picked for me. It means a lot. It's part of who I am.

Interviewer: So having a boy's name poses no problems for you?

 _Ms Universe_ : [ _laughs_ ] Steven isn't a boy's name! I'm a girl, and my name is Steven. See? So that makes it a girl's name, too.

 _Interviewer_ : We've never thought about it that way. Thank you for this interesting perspective, Steven.

 _Ms Universe_ : You're welcome! I have to say I've got a lot of amazing people to thank for my… _pearls_ of wisdom.

 _Interviewer_ : Oh, yes, please tell us a little bit about your family! We've been fascinated.

 _Ms Universe_ : Okay, you probably know, my mom, Rose, gave up her physical form to have me. But I have my dad, and three other moms, or sometimes four, if they're having a really bad fight. Usually just three, though. [ _smiles_ ] They're incredible. They taught me pretty much everything I know about music, plus some other stuff.

 _Interviewer_ : Speaking of your music, your newest single has made the top one hundred recently, hasn't it?

 _Ms Universe_ : Yeah! Bottom four of top one hundred, but that's still pretty great, right?

 _Interviewer_ : It certainly is! Can you tell us a bit about the inspiration for your music?

 _Ms Universe_ : Oh, well, lots of stuff. Like, my family, and the beach, and weird monsters, and donuts, and other kinds of food… But, uh, this song mostly exists because of Connie.

 _Interviewer_ : Aha! What can you tell us about Ms Maheswaran?

 _Ms Universe_ : [ _smiles widely_ ] Connie is amazing! She's so… [ _long pause_ ] I love her so much. She's just incredible.

 _Interviewer_ : The two of you are living together?

 _Ms Universe_ : We've moved in… I think two months ago already? We haven't unpacked all the boxes yet. There's not much motivation to, now that they've started making the bubble wrap thingies un-poppable. Did you know about that?

 _Interviewer_ : We did. We too still mourn that loss.

 _Ms Universe_ : Yeah. We try to do the right thing and unpack anyway, but Connie's really busy with her job and with writing, and I'm just really lazy.

 _Interviewer_ : Her second book comes out in January, doesn't it? Have you read it already?

 _Ms Universe_ : No! She won't let me! She says it's not done, and she doesn't trust me with spoilers.

 _Interviewer_ : Incredible. So there are no girlfriend sneak peak privileges?

 _Ms Universe_ : None!

 _Interviewer_ : Seems a bit unfair.

 _Ms Universe_ : [ _nods furiously_ ] And I'm the one who brings her tea! And cleans up all the candy wrappers and noodle cups around the computer. Uh – sometimes.

 _Interviewer_ : Tragic.

 _Ms Universe_ : [ _sighs_ ] My love for her is truly selfless.

 _Interviewer_ : We understand the two of you spend your downtime fighting intergalactic monsters?

 _Ms Universe_ : [ _shrugs_ ] Only sometimes. Usually my moms handle all that.

 _Interviewer_ : It sounds exciting.

 _Ms Universe_ : Maybe. I used to think so. Now I mostly think it's pretty sad.

 _Interviewer_ : Why do you say that?

 _Ms Universe_ : Well, they're monsters, but they're not… _bad_. [pause] You know?

 _Interviewer_ : We're not sure that we do.

 _Ms Universe_ : [ _sighs_ ] That's all right. I'm not sure I do, either, honestly. Anyway, we do our best to treat them right. We used to just keep them in bubbles, but now we use my mom's room to make them more comfortable. I told it to be whatever the monsters wanted, so they always have whatever they need.

 _Interviewer_ : We see. Thank you for this… confusing explanation, Steven.

 _Ms Universe_ : You're welcome!

 _Interviewer_ : Oh! We seem to be running out of time. Thank you so much for coming, we've loved having you here.

 _Ms Universe_ : Me too! Thanks for having me.

 _Interviewer:_ The inimitable Ms Steven Quartz Universe, everyone!

 _END TRANSCRIPT_

.

.

The moment Steven opens the door to the apartment, Lion is on her, the enormous fluffy bulk of him pinning her to the floor, settling comfortable onto her torso and face. She wriggles and spits to get the fur out if her nose and mouth, and dutifully scratches whatever areas she can reach.

"Why were you locked inside?" she asks him, giving his belly a pat. He rolls over her discontentedly. "Is Connie out?"

Lion makes a low growling noise, squashes her with one final roll, and pads out of the building.

Steven gets up and walks into the apartment, not bothering to lock the door. Lion comes and goes, and there's no reason to make things more complicated for him. Their landlord is a devoted cat lady, and she adores Lion, so it's not too much of a problem.

The apartment is completely dark, but all the windows are open, and some rain got in. Steven mops everything up and closes the shutters, and heads to the kitchen to make something junky and comforting for Connie when she gets home. But then Steven passes through the living room, turning the light on, and there she is, still in her work clothes, hair sprawled out everywhere: Connie, curled up compactly on the sofa, sleeping soundly.

Steven bites her lip, doing nothing to suppress the huge smile taking over her face, and goes in search of a blanket. She fishes one out of a cardboard box sitting in the bathroom, for some reason, and returns to throw it over the gorgeous, lumpy, softly snoring ball that is her girlfriend. Connie curls tighter under the blanket, hidden beneath it up to the nose, and Steven lets out a soft chuckle.

Connie frowns, eyes still closed. "Whh," she says from under the blanket.

"Nothing," Steven whispers to her. "Please dream about fun shit for me. But don't tell me about it later, because dream stories are boring."

"Okay," Connie agrees, and starts snoring again.

Steven goes to the kitchen to proceed with her original plan. Junky comforting food is just as good for waking up as it is for coming home. And it's pretty tough to be a musician mostly-full-time, but it's even tougher to be a social work intern actually-full-time, _and_ a writer on the side. Hopefully waking up from a couch nap to waffles and ice cream and grilled cheese will be a nice and relaxing experience.

Steven hums to herself as she pulls the waffle maker out of the cabinet (it was one of the first items to get unpacked) and sets about making the batter from scratch. She stops in the middle of whisking to jot down some lyrics on the nearest available piece of paper, which happened to be a washing machine manual (she isn't sure why? They don't even own a washing machine), and strums a few notes on the guitar leaning against the kitchen counter, then gets back to the waffles.

The waffles are done and the grilled cheese is sizzling in the pan when Connie, yawning and shuffling her bare feet, comes into the kitchen wrapped in the blanket.

Steven flips the sandwiches a final time as Connie shambles up behind her, resting her forehead against Steven's nape and slumping onto her back.

Steven laughs and turns off the gas.

"I've just napped for more than an hour and I still feel like death," Connie mumbles into Steven's hair. "Being an adult sucks."

Steven transfers the grilled cheese onto two mismatched plates (one of which might be kinda dirty? But it's fine). "Luckily for you, I've made extremely un-adult food," she says cheerfully.

"Mm, I love you," Connie says and nuzzles the back of her neck. "Your hair smells weird."

"The hair and makeup guy put something in it," Steven tells her. "It looked really nice, though."

"Your hair always looks nice," Connie says dubiously. "I like your hair."

"I do too," Steven agrees, picking up the plates and turning toward the table. Connie remains glued to her back, and they waddle awkwardly all the way to it. "Can I turn around?" Steven asks.

"Mmmaybe," Connie says, linking her fingers together over Steven's stomach, letting the blanket drop, but taking a step back, giving her some room.

Steven turns around within the circle of Connie's arms, and Connie's hold immediately tightens again. At least in this position, Steven can hug back. "Work was hard?" she asks.

"I cried so much today," Connie sighs. "But it was really good, other than that."

"You wanna eat now?" Steven offers, absentmindedly rubbing the space between Connie's shoulder blades.

"I wanna hold you now," Connie replies, giving Steven a squeeze and laying her head on her shoulder.

They hold each other as the food gets cold, but it's fine, because Connie's tousled and snug in Steven's arms, and hot food is overrated, anyway.

Connie sighs after a while – a happier sigh, this time, Steven's pretty sure – and picks her head up and moves back and looks Steven up and down. "Your hair does look nice," she admits with a smile. "Thanks for letting Lion out, by the way, he wouldn't stop mewling and I couldn't get the energy to get up and all the way to the door."

"You'd think as a magical lion from another galaxy, he'd find a way past an old deadbolt by now," Steven says.

Connie snickers. "He's too polite for sonic teleporting in the middle of a nice neighborhood."

Steven smiles goofily. Connie leans in and kisses her.

"I've missed you," Steven tells her, slipping her fingers in between Connie's.

"How unfortunate that we live so far apart, huh?" Connie replies, grinning, and they sit down on overturned plastic buckets to eat their cold breakfast-for-dinner one handed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** Steven is nineteen and has lots of acne and both her parents' hair, and she's really, really, really in love.

 **Note:** Takes place a few years before the previous chapter, while Connie's away at college and Steven's still in Beach City.

* * *

Steven scrutinizes herself in the mirror as she struggles with her ridiculous, insubordinate curls and tries to weave some oleanders in her hair. She can't shave very well with all the acne on her chin and there's a strand of hair that keeps getting in her eyes, but she feels perfect. Her huge smile might as well be carved in stone for how unshakable it feels. She's gonna see Connie today.

She bursts out into the living room and almost runs straight into Garnet, but Garnet turns around just in time to gently grab her by her waist and arrest her momentum. "Hello, Steven," she says. "You're very excited."

Steven nods giddily. "I'm gonna see Connie today," she reports happily.

Garnet smiles, adjusts her shades. "Mhm. You look romantic."

Steven laughs nervously. "Whaaat? This? Romantic?" She's just wearing flip flops and a big shirt and shorts with smiling watermelons on them. Garnet is being way too perceptive.

"You're glowing," Garnet states mildly. "And you have flowers in your hair."

"Garnet!" Steven whines. "Connie is my platonic friend!"

"Yes," Garnet relents, patting Steven affectionately on the head. "Go have platonic fun."

"I will," Steven vows, hugs Garnet around the middle (she's almost as tall as Garnet's shoulder by now), and rushes out of the temple almost an hour too early.

She's gonna see Connie today.

.

Steven spends about forty jumpy, hyper minutes at the bus stop before Connie's bus comes into view, and then spends another, even more excited couple of minutes waiting for Connie to disembark. And then Connie does, and she looks taller than Steven remembered, and she's wearing her hair in a big braid and carrying a blue backpack and she's beautiful and she doesn't notice Steven and then she does.

"Steven," Connie says, low and unsmiling, and Steven's not worried at all because she can see Connie's body tense and relax in the fraction of a second before she's running toward her in a dead sprint.

Steven catches her around the middle, Connie's chin bumping her forehead, and sweeps her into a spin, Connie laughing into her hair.

"Steven, Steven, Steven," Connie says, the name bubbling giddy and warm from her lips over and over, and Steven lowers her down and keeps squeezing her close, burying her huge ridiculous smile in Connie's neck.

Connie runs her hands in Steven's hair as she eases back, fingers gently extricating from tangles and then diving back in, scattering flowers to the ground. Steven keeps her grip just below Connie's ribcage, not willing to let go of their hug entirely.

"You look so pretty, Steven," Connie tells her reverently, fingers undistracted from their quest to trace every strand of Steven's hair.

"You look pretty and smart and cool and college-y," Steven replies happily. "I can already tell you've gotten even scholarly-er."

Connie giggles, grabs Steven in another hug, under the armpits and beneath the shoulder blades, and lifts her, this time.

"I missed you so much!" she declares as Steven laughs, startled and excited, and wraps her legs around Connie's torso.

They stumble forward a few steps before Connie drops her and plops down on her butt.

"You've been working out," Steven points out admiringly.

"Obviously! There's no way I'm coming back for a visit and not showing off to Pearl."

"She'll be so impressed. She missed you a lot too. Oh, you're coming to lunch with my dad and the Gems! If your parents are getting dinner _and_ breakfast, we're getting lunch!"

Connie smiles widely. "Of course I'll come. I missed them too." She crinkles her nose. It's the best thing any face has ever done, in Steven's opinion. "Not their cooking, though."

"Don't worry, I'm in charge of the food," she reassures her. "Tell me about college."

"Steven, we Skype basically every day," Connie says, laughing.

"Yeah, and now we are talking! In person in real life! So tell me about college."

"Aren't you bored of listening to me complain about racist professors and boys in my gender studies course?"

"Nooo," Steven protests, horrified by the very idea. "I need to know _all the details_ about boys in your gender studies course."

Connie giggles. "Okay, in that case, remember Jonathan? He stood up in class and started talking about hijabs. I think he could manage to piss even you off."

They reach the town by the time Connie is finished with the story, and Steven steers them to the beach so they can get rid of their shoes (or other footwear) and walk on some sand, because she figures it's got to be one of the beachside experiences a cool urbane college student would miss.

"So, yeah, I'm not that into the whole partying side of the College Experience," Connie is saying. "I guess when you spend your early adolescence going on magical adventures, your sense of fun becomes a bit skewed."

"No way! Magical adventures are the best fun-calibrators."

"Spending time with you is the best fun-calibrator," Connie says, and it sounds even goofier coming for her, and Steven loves it and she loves Connie.

She rubs the back of her head, displacing another flower. "So, uh, have you gone on any college dates?" she asks, her voice squeaking embarrassingly on the last word.

Connie blushes deep brown, looks briefly to the side. Steven tries not to breathe too loudly. "Uh, well," Connie says, tucking some hair behind her ear. "Not really. I'm – not that interested in dating right now, I mean, I have so much to do, and I've never really, I guess – never really been that interested in all that."

"Oh," Steven says, swallowing down her silly self-centered disappointment with a shaky laugh. "Yeah. That makes sense. For you. I think that makes sense for you, yeah. I'm glad you can tell what you want so well."

Connie's gaze lifts back to her, and she smiles, looking relieved. "Right. Me too. So, what about you? Any hot dates?" she teases.

Steven relaxes. This is much safer territory. "Nope! Still chilling on the beach and writing silly songs all day."

"You have no idea how good that is to hear," Connie says with this long, quiet sigh. "Wanna sing with me?"

Steven thinks her cheeks might hurt tomorrow from how much and how wide she's been smiling. It's a really nice thought. "The guitar's at the temple," she says, extending her hand. Connie doesn't hesitate for a second before taking it.

.

.

Almost forty hours since Connie had left Beach City again, Steven is sprawled out on the sofa at the temple, humming lonely songs to herself. She promised Connie she'd call at eleven, their usual night skyping time, but that's still twenty minutes away. It's been almost forty hours since Steven's seen Connie, and it's gonna be forty hours and fifteen minutes before she actually gets to, and that's just awful.

And then, at ten to eleven, Steven's phone rings.

"Hey," Connie's gorgeous smiling face greets her. "I've finished most of my reading, and I didn't want to wait another ten minutes."

Steven feels like she could honestly cry. "Connie," she says. It comes out sounding very serious. "I wanna tell you something."

"Oh?" Connie says, somewhere between curious and apprehensive.

The last thing Steven wants is to make Connie worry. "Connie, sorry, I know you don't like any of this stuff, and I guess, I guess you wouldn't want to hear this, but, I think I really need to tell you," she finds herself babbling. Babbling is more reassuring than an overly serious tone, isn't it? Marginally?

"Steven," Connie interjects, and she definitely seems uneasy now.

"Um – you look like you kinda know what I'm gonna say? So, if you really, really don't want me to, I won't." She nervously rubs her sweaty palms over her shorts. "But, can I?"

"Oh, god." Connie runs her hand over her face. "I guess so."

Steven takes a deep breath and looks away. "Okay, then, Connie, you know, I think you're wonderful, you're so funny and brave and kind and opinionated, and I'm very seriously in love with you." She glances at Connie very quickly before turning her gaze back to her knees. She's run out of bravery a little bit, and she's starting to panic. "Um, but I really am happy that you know what you want and don't want, and if you don't want a relationship, then, um, of course I'm happy if you're happy too."

"Steven, stop, stop," Connie says in a rush. "I lied, okay? Hey, look up please? Look at me." Steven rubs the back of her head as she forces herself to look at her phone propped up on the table. What is she scared of? It is impossible to be scared of Connie. Connie, who is frowning. Connie, who is saying, quietly, frownily, "I love you too."

Steven feels her smile spread like a grease stain on tissue paper. What a terrible metaphor. "Really?" she says, and her voice squeaks with her ridiculous, uncontainable joy.

Connie makes an incredulous noise. "Steven, oh my god. I've basically been crushing on you for the past five years. You really hadn't noticed?"

"No," Steven tells her honestly.

Connie laughs, but it sounds a bit strained. "I thought I was being so obvious. I thought you were kind of worried about it, actually."

"You thought I knew you liked me, and I was bothered by it?" Steven asks worriedly. That sounds awful.

Connie nods. "You kept asking me about dating," she says. "I thought you were trying to give me a hint."

"Connie! When have I ever, ever been that subtle!"

"I don't know! I'm not that good at reading between the lines, either!"

"So that's why you said you weren't interested in romance, to reassure me?" Connie nods. "But you _are_ interested in romance?"

"I'm interested in romance with _you,_ " Connie amends.

"Is… is kissing something you're interested in?"

"Yes."

"Can we do that?"

Connie laughs again. It sounds much happier now. "Yes! Obviously!"

"But not right now," Steven says dejectedly.

"No," Connie agrees. "Because _you_ made the wise decision to have this conversation over Skype."

"Yeah." That was maybe not her best idea. "I think it went really really well, though."

Connie blushes. "I half can't believe this just happened," she says, her voice subdued. Not laughing anymore. "Five years of pathetic pining, done, just like that. God, Steven, I know it's stupid, but when you came out I thought I probably had no chance with you. I thought, oh, you're probably straight. I mean, most people are straight. And you never said – I mean. Fuck. I'm extremely in love with you, Steven."

"That's good," Steven says. "Because I'm extremely in love with you too."

Connie groans. "Why are you doing this to meee," she whines, and drops her head in her arms. "I want to hug you so much."

"Hug your laptop, and I'll hug my phone," Steven suggests, feeling brilliant.

"No, that's silly!" Connie says, but then does it anyway. Hugging a phone isn't very practical or effective, but when Steven draws back, flushed and smiling, to see Connie look as happy and flustered as she's ever seen her, it makes her feel just as warm and euphoric as the best kind of hug.

"I'll come visit you next weekend after the show," she promises Connie. "Then we can really hug. And kiss?"

"Definitely kiss," Connie agrees vigorously. " _Finally_."

"Oh!" Steven perks up, having had another brilliant idea. "Or now we could…?"

"Don't even try to suggest kissing the fucking webcam," Connie warns her sternly.

"Oh," Steven says, disappointed. "Next weekend, then."

Connie glances aside, back to Steven; bites her lip, stops biting her lip. Steven's never wanted to kiss her as desperately as at this moment. "I, I love you, Steven," she says very quietly. "I can't believe I get to say it like this now."

"I love you too," Steven replies, not daring to raise her voice above the volume Connie's set. She feels almost reverent of this quiet moment of grainy smartphone footage. "Tell Jonathan I said hi."

Connie giggles. "Text me as soon as you get up tomorrow," she commands. "Goodnight."

"Bye," Steven says, and quickly kisses her phone's tiny camera lens before reluctantly hanging up.

And despite the extreme silliness of the gesture, Steven falls asleep hugging her phone that night, and wakes up the next day to a dead battery.

She plugs it in and texts Connie the second it comes back to life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary:** Stevonnie and pronouns.

 **Note:** Takes place sometime after the first chapter. Steven and Connie come back to Beach City for a visit.

 **Note 2** : wordbending has written a sorta kinda prequel to this story, featuring Stevonnie, bad music and lots of love and acceptance. Google Her Universe by wordbending (or search '6489301' on ao3) to read it, because ffnet is very testy about links!

* * *

Lion was very well behaved the entire train ride, even allowing himself to be quietly petted by four individual children, but the moment they reach Beach County Station he leaps off and disappears, leaving Connie and Steven to take the bus to the city by themselves.

("He might get lost," Steven says halfheartedly. "But probably not, right?"

"Probably not," agrees Connie. "More likely, he's already asleep on the doormat outside the temple.")

Steven is wearing her Mom Shirt, with a star cut out to show off her gem, and her Dad Jeans, which are just her dad's very old, very comfy jeans. She's a patchwork of reminiscence; she feels connected and complete. Beach City is a bit unchanging, and so is her family; she isn't, exactly, but it always feels right to be back.

"You wanna visit your dad or your moms first?" Connie asks, slipping her fingers in between Steven's and giving them a squeeze.

"Neither!" Steven declares, squeezing back. "First, the beach!"

Connie smiles and fishes out her phone. "I'll let your family know you're snubbing them in favor of some wet sand."

"We just saw them on Passover," Steven points out reasonably. "It's been _months_ since I was last sunburned, Connie."

"I'll make sure to mention," Connie mutters, tapping away. "No response from your dad, he hasn't been on the app since Tuesday. Amethyst wants to know if we got her a souvenir, Pearl's worried about sunscreen, Garnet sends a sunglasses emoji," she reports.

"Which one?"

"Smirky one."

"Oh, okay."

They reach the strip of beach leading up to the city when Connie's phone chirps again. "Oh! Peridot says we'd 'better be back in time for Greg's disgusting dinner', and then: angry cat, chicken leg, balloons."

Steven laughs. "Tell her I missed her too."

"Cat face blowing a kiss, sent."

A pleasant shiver runs through Steven at the first contact of her bare feet with the sun warmed sand. She likes living in a big city, always surrounded by an enormous number of people, but she's a sea and sun and sand sort of person, more than that.

Connie laughs at her. "You look like a sailor, long lost at sea, stepping on solid ground for the first time in a decade."

"I'd make a great sailor. I'm very good at rhyming."

"Who am I in this scenario?" Connie asks.

"Pirate captain," Steven replies immediately. "But a socialist pirate captain, though."

"A maritime Robin Hood," Connie says.

"Exactly." Steven stops walking abruptly, causing Connie to bump her shoulder as she passes. "Hey, here, look at this!" she says, pointing at an indistinct bit of beach. "This is the exact precise spot where we danced together for the first time," she pronounces dramatically.

Connie makes a face at her. "You just pulled that out of your butt."

"No way! My memory is infallible."

"Mmhm. Who was Beach City's founder?"

"Connie! How am I expected to remember stuff I've never ever even known?"

"You portrayed him in a play!" Connie says, giggling.

"Anyway," Steven says, taking Connie's hand. "Dance with me?"

Connie's still giggling, but she obligingly leads Steven into a spin. "Sing something, then," she asks.

Steven closes her eyes, slipping easily into her softest, Connie-est ballad, letting Connie direct their movement. Connie pulls her and pushes and catches her, and Steven is laughing a little into her song, and then they're singing together, no, alone, all at once, stumbling a little bit with their sudden height, blinking down at the bright blinding sand and their long brown feet, that much larger now but also further away.

Stevonnie laughs, delighted and strange. "Remember this?" they say. "Of course, of course I remember."

They twirl again, unassisted this time, and stumble and catch themself on their knees and laugh more urgently. "I, I missed me," they say, wondering and certain in this knowledge.

Stevonnie turns their hands over, examining their palms, taking stock of the knuckles, tracing over their mouth and nose and eyebrows. Repeatedly running their fingers through their hair. They always think they remember what it's like to be themeslf, and then they are and it's nothing they could have expected. They climb back to their feet, stroking the soft fuzz on their legs as they straighten. Every sensation is a kind of greeting.

"I feel – nice," Stevonnie says. "I want to move."

They start running, big, gulping steps, huffy laughter dispersing in the wind, mindful of the ground so as not to crush anything living, mindful of their skin and their hair and the texture of the world against themself.

"How tall am I now?" they ask the open air. "Um. Five foot six, right? Plus five, uhhh, nine. Woooah. Way taller than Garnet."

They slow to a stop near the edge of the water, where the waves come and go, lick and retreat. The sounds of ocean are very familiar – very _Steven_. That's a silly thought.

"I don't even need to talk." They stay silent for a long moment. The water is cool and stinging with the promise of salt on their skin; the wet sand shifting and viscous. Some seagulls are saying something far away. Stevonnie's hair makes soft rustling sounds as it's whipped about by the wind. They don't _need_ to say anything out loud. What's the difference? "I like your – I like my voice. Yeah."

Stevonnie hums, getting used to their vocal cords, their large, relaxed lungs. They start singing again; one of Steven's songs, but not exactly, not anymore. Theirs, now. It's odd, disjointed, it's being decided as it goes. It's gorgeous and mutual, harmonizing better than perfectly, better than possible, a single voice and more than that and something else and nothing but this.

They walk forward, into the ocean, water up to the ankle calf knee mid-thigh. It takes a long time to finally lose their footing; they're as tall as a small building now. They sing until the ocean drowns out their voice and then they swim, steady and sure as if this is a body they know very well. Isn't that great? They suppose they do. They obviously do.

Stevonnie swallows saltwater and comes up for air and coughs and laughs and dives back in. They love this body and this beach and this ocean and it seems suitable to have a little of it in their lungs.

When they finally resurface, the shore seems very far away, and they allow themself to float, occasionally pedaling in its direction.

"I'm not usually this athletic," they muse out loud. "No, _I_ usually am. But I – we – you never are."

They continue pedaling until the water is once again shallow enough to walk. Water falls away from them like a still cool blanket. "It's different for me," they say. "It's a different way of being together."

They walk along the shore until they're mostly dry again, the wind and the sun luring moisture off their skin. They kick at the sand. Some of it sticks.

"Hey." Stevonnie flexes their toes, digging into the ground. "I miss you," they say. "I don't know."

The split is gentle and deliberate (they're a bit practiced at this by now) and the last to let go are their linked hands. Connie wobbles a little, tugging at the hem of her shirt. Steven sprawls out on her back on the sand, worn out by all the running and the swimming and the being somebody else, so big and lovely and intense.

"Wow," Connie says, kneeling down next to her.

"Yeah." Steven blinks at the sun. She lost her sunglasses somewhere along the way. "That was fun?" she says, and also asks, a little bit.

"That was fun," Connie confirms.

"I'm really tired now," Steven says.

"We did go a bit triathlon there." Connie stretches out next to Steven, warm and barely brushing against her side. "Hey," Connie says. "Why are we a _they_ when we're fused, do you think? It's not a plural thing."

"Yeah."

"Do you want me to use they/them for you more often?"

Steven hums. "I don't think so. I don't really mind, though. I'm fine with anything, as long as you know who I am." She turns her head on the sand to smile at Connie. "And you do."

"Yeah," Connie says, and smiles back, going soft around the eyes. "Okay."

Something occurs to Steven, and she sits up, absently delegating the task of cataloguing the crinkles around Connie's eyes to the back space of her mind. "Do you want me to use they/them more often with you?"

"Hmm. I –" Frowning now. The lines between Connie's eyebrows are a separate entry. "Yeah. I think I'd like that."

Steven nods. "I always like when you know what you like."

Connie snorts. "Lie back down and cuddle with me, you big philosophical doofus."

"Here's my philosophical thesis: warm sand is very good to cuddle on, outdoor naps are fun, and I love you."

Connie snickers; she has sea spray in her hair, it catches the light sometimes. Steven drops onto her back with a _poof_ of scattered sand and Connie blows a raspberry as if some had gotten in their mouth, which it probably hadn't, and Steven laughs and spreads her arms to be held.

Connie wraps themself around Steven's middle, sighing contently. Steven places a palm on Connie's back and lets her eyelids droop a little.

"You're gonna have very silly tan lines," Connie mumbles, nuzzling the smudged star shape baked by the sun onto Steven's belly. Her nose ring clinks against Steven's gem.

Steven nods solemnly. "That's okay. I am a very silly girl."

"True," agrees Connie, and yawns, their breath warm and moist on Steven's skin. They snuggle closer, squeezing Steven's hip, and Steven thinks vaguely that she hasn't ever been more comfortable, in her comfortable jeans and comfortable memories and the comfortable circle of her girlfriend's arms.

They nap together on the beach, and wake up with a lion pressed up against them and even sillier tan lines.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary:** Bismuth helps Steven get ready for her first show; Connie documents.

 **Note:** Takes place a while before the second chapter. Connie hasn't gone off to college yet and Steven has yet to confess her love. Also this is an AU wherein Bismuth didn't get rebubbled.

Thanks to the amazing wordbending for the prompt!

* * *

"Steven, give me your phone," Connie requests, without for a second taking her eyes off her own, which is pointed, incidentally, directly at Steven's face.

Steven laughs (a little too animatedly – it causes Bismuth to tug her hair by accident). "Why do you need two phones?"

"Double the filming angles, Steven!"

"Why are you even filming this, you said you were just taking pictures," Steven says, futilely attempting to fight off her blush.

"Your grandchildren are going to want to see what a dork their superstar grandma was on her first real show," Connie explains patiently. "I can't disappoint your hypothetical grandchildren, Steven."

"Ha!" Bismuth barks. "I'll support that." She steals Steven's phone and materializes her own out of her gem, and hands them both to Connie. " _Triple_ the angles," she says with a wink.

Steven is momentarily transfixed by the way Connie's teeth slightly dent her lower lip as she bites it while trying to juggle three phones, then shakes herself out of it. "Bismuth, how much longer is my hair gonna take?"

"Not as long as it would if you keep moving around," Bismuth says mildly, her fingers gliding gentle and firm through Steven's curls.

Steven sighs deeply. She's too jittery to sit still! "Being a celebrity is hard work."

The sound of the fake phone shutter rings several times. "Don't worry, I'm capturing your artistic anguish as we speak," Connie reassures her. Steven feels so lucky to have her in this moment. (Every other moment, too, but this one especially).

It takes several more minutes of work on Bismuth's part, and doubtlessly dozens of pictures courtesy of Connie's three phones, but eventually Bismuth steps back, dusting off her hands in satisfaction.

"Ah, you look beautiful," says Bismuth, somewhere between admiring and smug. "I'm _great_ with human hair. Who knew!"

Steven stares at her piles and piles of dark brown ringlets in the mirror, glitter dusted and soft and fluffy; at the tiny pastel stars Bismuth carefully drew on her face. "I look like Mom," she murmurs.

Connie puts down two thirds of her phones to free one hand; suddenly there are five cold fingers threaded in between Steven's. Steven rubs whatever she can reach with her thumb. She'd prefer for Connie to never be cold.

"How you feeling, little friend?" Bismuth asks her, placing a heavy comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Really pop star-like," Steven replies, takes a deep breath, grins. "I like all the, uh, stars."

"That's good, cuz I've got some more for you." Bismuth places an open palm against her chest, draws something out of her gem and closes her hand around it. "I made you a little something."

She holds her arm out and opens her fist. In her hand are two star-shaped earrings, gleaming a strange metallic rainbow, like soap bubbles in sunlight.

Steven picks them out of her palm and holds them closer to her face. They're cool and mesmerizing and very obviously Bismuth's. She puts them on and beams.

Bismuth beams back. "Yeah?" she asks.

Steven nods emphatically. "Yeah."

"Good," Bismuth says, winks. "Aaand, that's not all," she adds, pressing her hand to her gem again, pulling out something a little bigger this time. It's a long strip of colorful, shimmering fabric; she pulls and pulls until her arm is extended all the way; she gives it a tug and it breaks free. It flutters down to dangle limp and dazzling from Bismuth's splayed fingers, and Steven stares at what turns out to be a stunningly detailed handmade dress.

Steven gasps. "Bismuth! You _sew_?"

Bismuth hums. "Took a while to figure it out," she says, waving her hand, causing the dress to glimmer in the light. "Not exactly the same principles as smelting. Got some help from a certain mechanical genius of both our acquaintance. Now I can do _this_." She holds up her other hand and wiggles her fingers; they turn to eye-stinging light for a second before settling into the shape of a perfectly constructed sewing machine. Bismuth flexes her arm and the needle buzzes.

Steven laughs in delight; Connie gawks. " _Cool,_ " Connie whispers.

"As a rock," Bismuth says with a wink, and hands Steven the dress.

Steven giggles and rubs her thumbs over the material of the dress Bismuth made for her, just for her, with her hands, taking the time to learn an entirely new skill to be able to make it. She can feel the itch of the beginning of tears in her eyes and nose. She sniffs, and Connie turns to her sharply, as she so often just somehow does when Steven might need her to.

"Steven," Connie says, quiet and warm; she always makes her name sound so beautiful. She lays her hand over Steven's, clenched in the soft, bright, wonderful material of the dress.

Bismuth wraps her arms around Connie and Steven both, and hugs them slightly off the ground. "Hey, hey, hey," she says, and sniffles too. "It's not _that_ bad, for a first attempt."

All three of them are sniffling now, a little bit; Steven has the absolute most sentimental family.

"Wait, hold on," says Connie. She rubs roughly at her eyes, squeezes her arm out of Bismuth's embrace, fishes out her phone, and takes a selfie. "A true journalist never lays down her camera."

Bismuth puts them down and chuckles. "That's dedication." She nods approvingly at Connie and raises her chin at Steven. "Well? Gonna try it on?"

Connie gives Steven's wrist a quick squeeze as she retreats to the bathroom to change.

Steven's hands are a bit jumpy, and she needs to try several times to get the button on her jeans open. It's not her first dress, or the first gift Bismuth's given her, or the first time she's felt really, really pretty; but it's the first time all of those things were combined together, and she's going to perform at her first show outside Beach City, and that's altogether first-y enough for her.

Steven steps out of her jeans and slides on her dress and closes her eyes for a moment, thinks of calm things: Connie's hands and Garnet's smirk and sticky fresh donuts. She opens her eyes again and looks at herself in the bathroom mirror.

It's like this: she looks beautiful, and fun, and warm, and happy, and she does look like her mom, but it doesn't feel sad or scary at all.

The dress is sewn from multicolored strings and threaded through with thin strands of metal, giving the same strangely muted yet glimmering rainbow effect as the earrings. It's all so ridiculously _Bismuth_ , but also comfortably Steven. It feels a bit like wearing a one-armed hug. It's just a happy sort of dress.

When Steven steps out of the bathroom, Connie makes a funny, high-pitched noise, then immediately claps a hand over her mouth. It's not enough to hide her grin, though. Steven beams at her. Bismuth is standing with a hand on her hip, eyes shiny.

"So?" she prompts. "How're you feeling _now?_ "

"Like the prettiest pride flag on two legs," says Steven. Connie snorts behind her hand.

Bismuth shrugs and wipes her eyes and says, "I'll take it."

Steven can't stop bouncing and wriggling in her seat on the drive over to the venue. She rubs the fabric of her dress between thumb and forefinger, feeling the solidity of the metal threads sliding inside the material, excited and distracted and a little hyper. But Connie is in the seat next to her, flashing her equally excited smiles and taking a truly silly amount of pictures, and it is entirely impossible, frankly, for this show to be anything but good and happy and fine.


End file.
